


'Tis the season

by BlushLouise



Series: Occasions [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Christmas Decorations, Christmas Fluff, Did I mention the fluff, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, christmas peace, jazz is creative, love love love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-24 11:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13810143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlushLouise/pseuds/BlushLouise
Summary: Jazz teaches Prowl about Christmas, Prowl takes the lesson to the Decepticons, and we learn that Praxians really are beneficial to a peace process. Maybe it's the doorwings?





	1. A time for giving

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Christmas, but I can't be arsed to wait until then with posting it here. So, happy belated Christmas!

_(On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…)_

“Jazz, what is this?”

The saboteur grinned, visor flashing at his doorwinged lover. “’S a partridge in a pear tree.”

Prowl turned, staring at the other mech. “A what did you say?”

Jazz huffed. “Okay, so technic’ly it’s a bird-figure decoration on a tree branch. It’s a human Christmas tradition.”

A corner of Prowl’s mouth quirked. “Really?” He eyed the decoration again with speculation. It was pretty, he supposed, if you liked such things; the small, artificial red-breasted bird stuck to the green-needled branch with a piece of wire and affixed to the rec room wall.

“Yup.” Jazz bounced on his pedes. “’S from a song. On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me a partridge in a pear tree. Ah dunno why.”

“And this is because…” Prowl stretched out his arm, touched the tiny bird carefully.

“It’s from me ta ya, Prowler.” A black hand gently caresses the edge of one doorwing. “Ya know, from one true love ta another.”

“Thank you, Jazz,” Prowl said softly, doorwing trembling at the touch. “It’s lovely.”

 

_(On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…)_

“The bird seems to have multiplied.”

“Nah, Prowler, that’s the second verse. Those’re turtle doves.”

Prowl canted his head, looked at the two tiny bright-white ceramic birds hanging from the edge of yesterday’s fir branch. (Hound had been kind enough to confirm the type of tree – Prowl had been fairly certain that a pear tree it was not.) “What’s the significance of turtle doves?”

Jazz walked up to him, snuck an arm around his waist plates. “The humans see ‘em as a symbol of love an’ devotion, ‘cause they mate for life.”

“That’s nice,” Prowl murmured. “They’re very pretty, too. Where did you get them?”

“Carly helped,” Jazz said, placing his head on his mate’s shoulder. “They’re from a store.”

Prowl reached around, pulled Jazz closer. “Thank you, love. I do appreciate the symbolism.” That small smile quirked his mouth plates again. “True love from my true love.”

“Careful, Prowler, mechs might think ya sappy,” Jazz grinned.

Prowl just tightened his grip. “That’s why you show me these when no one else is here, isn’t it. So I can be sappy in peace.”

Jazz’s mouth presses gently against his shoulder struts. “Ah do love ya when ya’re sappy.”

“Likewise, love.”

 

_(On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…)_

Prowl just looked. The fir branch had gained a brother, the two branches fastened in an angle against each other to make room for the decorations. On the new branch, three fat little balls of feathers sat.

“Three…. Somethings?”

Jazz laughed. “Aw, Prowler, ya’re usually more eloquent than that. They’re French hens. Or, they’re supposed ta be.” He shrugged at his mate’s raised optic ridges. “Ah dunno. It’s in the song. Ah think the humans ate ‘em or somethin’.” He grinned proudly. “Ah made’em. Glued the tiny feathers on the tiny balls.” He held up his servos, tell-tale traces of feathers and glue still evident on the tips of his fingers. “Was a pit of a task, too, since they’re so small. Ah got the biggest polystyrene globes Ah could find, didn’ help much.”

“Jazz, I love you.” Prowl smiled at Jazz, more touched than he would have expected, and got a radiant grin back. “Come on, let’s get your fingers cleaned.”

 

_(On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…)_

There was a button. Prowl was hesitant to push it. You never knew what a button on the Ark was programmed to do. Or who had programmed it. At least it wasn’t red.

“C’mon, Prowler, push it,” Jazz murmured, leaning his head on Prowl’s back.

White fingers stretched out, pressing the button carefully. The sound of bird song filled the air.

“Four callin’ birds,” Jazz said, pressing tiny kisses against the back of Prowl’s shoulder struts. “Ah got the recordin’ from Hound.”

“It’s beautiful,” Prowl murmured, leaning into the touch. “Thank you. Are you going to let me do something for you?”

“Ya are doin’ something for me,” Jazz replied. “Ya let me do this. Ah’m fairly sure it’s against regs. Also, it’s in public. Anyone can walk in an’ see it. An’ see you.”

“It’s art,” Prowl replied, pushing the button again. “It should be admired.”

“Ah think Sunstreaker’d disagree wi’ ya.” Jazz’s grin was audible in the tone of his voice.

“Let him. It’s not his gift.”

“No,” Jazz murmured, mouthing gently at a doorwing, eliciting a gasp from the other black and white. “It’s yours. All Ah have is yours.”

Prowl meant to respond to that, but then his doorwings were mouthed again and his vocaliser fritzed out and that was the end of intelligent conversation on his part.

 

_(On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…)_

“Five gold rings.”

“Ya got it in one,” Jazz grinned, touching the golden chain hung across one of the fir branches. “Five golden rings.”

“Do they mean something?” White fingers intertwined with the black ones.

“Eternity, Ah think. An unbreakable vow.”

“You’re making that up.” Prowl nuzzled gently at Jazz’s helm.

“Well, yeah,” the saboteur grinned. “But that’s how Ah mean’em. And since Ah’m the one givin’ you the gifts…”

“… then you get to decide,” Prowl agreed. “That sounds only fair.” He mouthed at one of his lover’s sensor horns. “I bow to your expertise.”

Jazz gasped. “Prowler…”

 

_(On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…)_

Prowl looked. He looked again. He tilted his head. It didn’t help. These, these six swirls of silver, he did not understand.

“It was supposed ta be six geese a layin’,” Jazz said, sauntering up to him. “But Ah was so tired of birds. Ya’d think the humans never thought of anythin’ else, there’re so many birds in this song.” He stretched out a hand, tracing the swirl of one of the symbols. “These’re G clefs lyin’ flat on their backs. Humans use’em to write music. Pretty, aren’t they?”

“Very,” Prowl agreed. “Almost glyph-like.” He traced a version of the symbol on Jazz’s back, smirking slightly when the other mech shuddered. When Prowl stepped closer and put his arms around his mate, Jazz turned to him eagerly.

“Love you,” Prowl murmured, nuzzling Jazz’s cheek plate. “More than you know.”

“Ah know,” Jazz moaned as clever white fingers stroked the rim of one headlight. “Ah do know.”

 

_(Interlude)_

“So what’s new today?” Sideswipe detoured over to the wall, where the night’s most recent addition shone among the green branches. “Some form of silver doohicky?”

Smokescreen grinned. “They’re the new ones, yeah.”

The red twin raised an optic ridge. “Makes no sense to me. D’you know what they are, Smokey?”

“They’ve got something to do with music,” Bluestreak put in from his perch on Sunstreaker’s lap. The golden twin was leaning his helm up against the gunner’s cheek, eyes half-closed. “At least that’s what Carly said, though she didn’t know what they were called. But they’re pretty, aren’t they? All swirly and stuff. I like them.”

“I’ll make you some,” Sunstreaker murmured.

Sideswipe grinned at his brother, before sauntering around the table and sitting down next to Smokescreen, leaning against his lover’s side. “Take him up on that, Blue. He doesn’t offer often.”

“Really?” Blue twisted on Sunstreaker’s lap and flashed him a smile. “Thanks, Sunny. You’re the best.”

Sunstreaker nuzzled Bluestreak’s neck. “Of course I am. You deserve only the best.”

“They’re adorable,” Sideswipe stage-whispered to Smokescreen, a small smile curving his mouth plates.

“You’re adorable,” Smokescreen replied, pulling the red twin closer and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Love you, Sides.”

Jazz grinned from his perch behind them. From his vantage point he had a clear view of Sunstreaker whispering sweet nothings into Bluestreak’s audials, and Sideswipe and Smokescreen as they stared at each other, having apparently forgotten both where they were and that they were in no way alone.

_Praxians. If we could gift-wrap a Praxian and send to each Decepticon, maybe the war would be over by now._

He caught the eye of the last Praxian on the Ark as Prowl entered the rec room and made his way over to the energon dispenser.

_Nah. The ‘Cons’ll have ta find their own happiness. Ah’ve got mine._

 

_(On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…)_

This time, he didn’t hesitate to push the button. The soft music filled the room, as the small – for an Autobot – screen set in between the branches lit up, white-clad dancers moving elegantly across it.

“Swan lake,” Prowl sighed, pulling the saboteur close to him and resting his helm on the other’s shoulder.

“One of your favorites,” Jazz nodded. “For seven swans a-swimmin’.”

They stood silently together, watching and listening as the ballet dancers moved across the stage.

“You know me so well.”

“Ah know everythin’, Prowler.” Jazz grinned suddenly. “And yet ya surprise me.”

Mouth plates pressed against sensor horn. “I do?”

“Yeah. Ah didn’ expect that ya’d appreciate this quite this much. Ta be honest, Ah thought ya’d think it a bit silly.”

“It is a bit silly,” Prowl replied softly. “And unexpected. And thought-through. And innocent. And I love it. I love it because it’s something you’re doing for me. Every night, I find that I’m walking faster to get here, I’m so excited to see what you’ve come up with this time.” He pushed the button again to start the dancers off. “It’s perfect.”

Jazz twisted the other’s arms, pressed a kiss to his mouth plates. “Ah’m glad. Ah’m havin’ so much fun plannin’ it out.” He chuckled. “Didya fall for the temptation yet and look up the song?”

“I won’t,” Prowl replied, kissing him back. “That would spoil the surprise.”

“Ah aim to surprise,” Jazz whispered, optics closing.

“I know,” Prowl whispered back. “You’re my own personal brand of chaos. That’s why I love you.”

 

_(On the eight day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…)_

“Carly.”

“Yep.”

“Eight of her.”

“Yep.”

“…Okay. What’s with the look on her face?”

“Bumblebee took that picture o’ her after she’d fallen down and broken her leg, an’ we had to carry her everywhere.” Jazz grinned, tilting his head at the smug-looking blonde youth in the pictures. “Ah remembered ‘cause Spike said she was milkin’ it for all it was worth.”

“I do recall that,” Prowl replied, a slight quirk to his mouth plates. “Ratchet said she had been well for several days before she finally admitted she could walk on her own.” The tactician’s amusement would be difficult if not impossible to spot for anyone who was not Jazz. “So what’s the connection?”

“Eight maids a-milkin’.”

Prowl’s soft noise could almost be called a snort, if the tactician ever did such a thing. “Eight young Carlys milking it. Excellent idiom transferral.”

“Ah knew you’d appreciate it,” the saboteur grinned.

Prowl smiled one of his tiny smiles again, reaching out to take the other’s hand. “I think it’s brilliant. Thank you.”

 

_(On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…)_

“Oh Jazz, it’s beautiful,” Prowl whispered.

The nine polished balls of precious Earthen metals spun around each other slowly on tracks of smooth silver, the glowing golden ball in the centre giving out its own soft light.

“Ah’m glad ya think so,” Jazz replied in a soft voice. “Ah made it for ya. Wheeljack helped. For nine ladies dancin’.”

Mesmerized by the spinning jewels, Prowl didn’t immediately respond. But then he turned his head around so fast that he should have twisted at least one neck cable. “You _made_ it?”

“Yeah.” Jazz grinned, a bit awkward under the tactician’s focus. And even more surprised by the sudden embrace he found himself in.

“Thank you, Jazz,” Prowl murmured into the other’s audials. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Really? ‘Cause as orreries go, it’s not that complex or elegant. Ah’ve seen better,” Jazz objected.

“I’ve seen more fanciful ones, yes,” Prowl agreed. “Made my master artificers who’d spent half their youngling time as apprentices and could use vorns on a single installation. This…” He turned his focus back to the spinning gems. “ _You_ made this. That makes it perfect.”

“Aw Prowler, now ya’re sappy again,” Jazz grinned, happiness apparent in his optics.

“I can’t help it,” the SIC said, nuzzling at the other’s faceplates. “You bring out that side of me.”

“Well, Ah shoulda done this before, then,” Jazz smirked as his mate took his hand and pulled him towards the rec room door.

“I’m glad you’re doing it now. Come with me? I need you.”

“’Course,” Jazz replied, willingly letting himself getting tugged along with a pleased look on his faceplates.

 

_(On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…)_

The row of little cardboard figures were balanced individually on springs. Prowl counted ten of them. Each figure was familiar, some faces well-known, others less so. And some were a bit of an unexpected sight.

“Starscream.”

“Well, he’s the Air Lord of Vos,” Jazz shrugged. “And Ah needed more lords ta get ta ten lords a leapin’. Plus, ya have ta admit, he looks good.”

“Megatron?”

“Same thing, minus the lookin’ good. Ah tried ta avoid usin’ him, but Ah didn’ know who else to use.” Jazz touched the little bell on cardboard Megatron’s head. “At least Ah made ‘im festive.”

Prowl smiles faintly at that. There was no doubt that the figures were festive – from Optimus with red sparkles, to Sentinel with a tiny santa hat, to Starscream covered in glitter.

“They’re funny.”

Jazz brightened. “Great! ‘Cause Ah wasn’ sure ya’d like ‘em, since Ah put the ‘Cons on there. But if ya think they’re funny now…” The saboteur grinned. “Wait ‘til Ah do this.” A black hand reached out and gave the stick the figures were attached to a tug.

And the figures started bouncing on their springs.

“Ten lords leaping,” Prowl chuckled. “Well played, Jazz.”

“Ah aim ta please,” his mate grinned. He reached out to tug at the stick again, making the bell on cardboard Megatron’s head jingle merrily.

 

_(Interlude)_

Prowl had looked long and hard, and found nothing. Jazz had taken the only song that involved giving lots of gifts to one’s mate.

Oh, there were plenty of songs about gifts. But many were aimed at sparklings, or involved the human giving themselves to their mate, or wanting someone else, or wanting snow, of all things. There was even one about wanting one’s two front teeth, which made no sense at all to Prowl. But he couldn’t find anything that fit. And now he was struggling.

The closest he had come, was a song that said that all the singer wanted for Christmas was her mate. But it seemed – flippant, somehow, to Prowl. Besides, he already had Jazz. They were already bonded, they couldn’t re-bond. And there was one song that ended with ‘I built my dreams around you’, and that line was perfect, but the rest of the song was just depressing. So he couldn’t use that either.

So it was with a slight sense of desperation that he stood outside Prime’s door, pinging for entrance.

Optimus looked up from a datapad as he entered. “Good evening, Prowl. To what do I owe this visit?”

For once not making a fuss out of the fact that his leader was working late again, Prowl made sure the door was shut and sat down on the chair in front of the Prime’s desk. “I need some advice.”

Prime put down his datapad, giving his SIC his undivided attention.

“You must have noticed,” Prowl began, sitting straight on the chair, “the display set up on the rec room wall these last ten days.”

“The Christmas song decorations, yes,” Optimus nodded. “I wondered if Jazz had something to do with that.”

Prowl permitted himself a small smile. “They’re a gift for me,” he admitted, “from Jazz. One for each of the twelve days. And I… Well, I do love that he’s doing this, and I want to do something for him in return. But I don’t know what to do.” He shrugged minutely, a tiny flick of doorwings. “I’ve looked at the other Christmas songs. There’s nothing similar. There are a lot of songs that have a line that fits, but no songs that fit perfectly.”

“I see,” Optimus agreed, and Prowl didn’t think he was imagining the little glint of humor in the Prime’s optics. “So do you feel the need to mimic his actions? Will something else do?”

“I want it to be heartfelt and interesting and considerate and perfect for Jazz,” Prowl sighed. “And I’m beginning to realize that Jazz is much better than I at such things.”

“Jazz may be more impulsive and prone to intuitive leaps,” Prime said. “But you know what he likes, and what pleases him. I’m sure you can come up with something.” Optimus placed his palms on the desk. “If this was me, I would write a poem, but that may not be what you are after.”

Prowl just stared. “A… poem?”

“Yes,” Prime grinned. “Or a list of sorts. I would try writing what would please my mate the most.”

The black-and-white frowned. “Surely, Prime, you’re not saying that I put his interfacing desires into words and hang them on the rec room wall.”

Prime chuckled, shaking his head. “No, that is understanding it a bit more literal than I intended it. Although I dare say that there are some that would find it amusing. No. I merely meant that you are the one among us who knows Jazz best, so you will know what makes him happy.” He stretched out a hand and put it on Prowl’s arm.

There was not much to say to that. He had asked for advice, and gotten it, and the fact that he didn’t understand what to do with it was mostly his own problem. He stood up to leave. “Thank you. There is one more thing.”

Prime arched an optic ridge at him.

“Jazz had help, setting up these gifts. And I want to do something in return to all those who helped him. So I’m asking permission to arrange a Christmas party for Christmas Eve.”

That had Prime surprised. In all their vorns of working together, Prowl had never before asked permission to hold a party. That kind of planning was usually left to his mate.

“Of course,” the Autobot leader replied. “However you see fit.”

Prowl nodded. “Thank you, Prime.” Then he left.

_(On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…)_

The sketch was small, hardly bigger than his two servos put together, but it was exquisite. The colors seemed to have a muted glow, and the details were sharp, pulling him in.

“Jazz?” Prowl asked quietly.

“This one’s a bit of a stretch,” the saboteur grins. “Ah ha t’ find somethin’ for eleven pipers pipin’, and Ah didn’ really want ta have eleven human figures playin’ instruments on there. So Ah found this song called ‘Pipes of peace’, and its music video, and that led ta this.” He took hold of Prowls fingers carefully, angling the miniature so they could both see. “It’s a moment from the humans’ first world war, somethin’ called the Christmas peace. Apparently, both sides of the trenched soldiers jus’ decided to stop fightin’ since it was Christmas, an’ instead they gave each other gifts and sang songs and such.” He grinned suddenly. “Ah asked Sunny to put a piper in there though. Ah think that’s him, on that rock.”

“I thought it looked like Sunstreaker’s work,” Prowl said quietly. “Jazz, this must have cost you. He doesn’t do this kind of work cheaply.”

“Nah, it didn’, actually,” his mate replied, still looking at the miniature. “When Ah told ‘im what Ah wanted it for, and the motif Ah wanted, he said that he’d waive the fee this once ‘cause of the occasion. But only if he got to show it ta Blue first, before ya got ta see it.” Jazz’s visor turned towards Prowl. “Ah said that was okay.”

“Of course it is,” Prowl murmured. “It’s the kind of story that Bluestreak loves. The idea that there is something out there that’s more important than fighting, that’s worth laying down your weapon for, and the idea that the enemy doesn’t really want to kill you in the end.”

In fact, it gave him an idea. And it was an idea that was almost guaranteed to put Red Alert in the med bay with an aching processor. His tactical battle computer and logic center briefly threw the same conclusion at him – can’t be done – but when he changed a few variables… It could work.

Yes, it could work.


	2. A time for trusting

 

When the call came through on his console, Rumble couldn’t quite believe it. Sure, every now and then there were calls from the Ark, but they were always for Megatron from Prime, and never at this time of night.

No one ever called at this time of night.

And Prowl certainly _never_ called. Especially not for _Soundwave_.

Rumble re-cycled his optics, just to be sure. It didn’t change anything.

*Um. Boss?*

*Rumble?*

*There’s a call for ya at command, could ya come take it?*

*Acknowledged.*

Thank Primus Soundwave recharged lightly. Waking Megatron would be a pit of a task, he’d tried doing that before.

When Soundwave arrived at command, Rumble just indicated his console and moved aside expectantly.

As Soundwave took the call, the Autobot SIC’s face appeared on the screen.

“Prowl,” Soundwave acknowledged.

“Soundwave,” the Autobot nodded. “Thank you for taking my call. I know it’s late.”

Rumble looked from the screen to his master as Soundwave obviously – to the symbiont, anyway – fought the surprise of being thanked by an Autobot for the first time in his existence.

In the end, he just nodded.

“Prowl: desires to talk to Megatron?”

“Only Prime can talk to Megatron directly,” the black-and-white replied. “I have a… proposition that I want you to put to him.”

Soundwave paused for a moment. “Soundwave: listening.”

“I want to offer a truce,” Prowl said without preamble. “A twenty-four hour truce. During that time, there will be a… gathering of sorts. And I wish to ask you to attend.”

Well, that made no sense at all. Rumble could tell that Soundwave thought the same thing.

“Query: why?”

“What sort of gathering?” Rumble piped in.

If the two commanding officers thought he was rude to butt in, neither made any sign of it. Then again, Prowl was certainly the only one in either faction who could match Soundwave for lack of expression, even without a mask and visor.

“These are the terms,” the Autobot continued. “The Decepticons are invited to this gathering provided they come unarmed and vow to not break the truce. The Autobots will adhere to the same terms. In return, the Autobots will see all participants fully fuelled, without restriction. We will also provide entertainment.”

“Hang on,” Rumble said. “Fuel and entertainment?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

A slow grin spread across Rumble’s faceplates. “So… it’s a party. You’re inviting us to a party.”

“Yes,” Prowl conceded. His face almost had emotion on it for a moment.

Soundwave, though, hesitated. “Query: why?” he repeated. “Inviting Decepticons: not usual. Prowl’s actions: illogical.”

Rumble grinned at the Autoscum who was more tactical computer than he was mech being called that. It was true though. The Autobots inviting the ‘Cons to a party really was illogical.

Prowl paused, and suddenly a data packet came through. “The humans have something in their history called the ‘Christmas peace’,” he explained. “When the humans fought the first of their world wars, there was an instance when the fighting just ceased on Christmas Eve. It was a spontaneous thing, not coordinated – the soldiers just stopped fighting, and instead met on the battle field as friends, talking, exchanging presents and such.” He frowned slightly. “I want to recreate that. If the humans could do it, we should be able to as well. Christmas Eve is in a week.”

Soundwave skimmed through the datapad, then turned to Rumble.

*Query: Christmas?*

*It’s a human holiday, boss, from one of their religions. It’s all about presents, family, peace on earth and good will to all men and all that slag.*

*Understood.*

“Soundwave: will discuss terms with Lord Megatron,” his boss said, looking back at the screen.

“Thank you, Soundwave,” Prowl said, and Rumble could barely conceal his own shock at the second thanks within a breem. “I appreciate it. Would you send Laserbeak with your reply?”

“Affirmative,” Soundwave nodded. “Laserbeak: will be at the Ark tonight.”

“Good. I’ll send back the coordinates and the rest of the details then.”

Soundwave nodded and moved to disengage the comm. He paused, though, just before actually ending the call.

“Prowl: has personal interest in this. Why?”

The Autobot’s gaze moved from the camera to the floor and back. Rumble had never seen him show that much emotion. “You’re right. I want to demonstrate to our soldiers that peace is possible. And that we’re all still Cybertronians. We’re all the same.”

Soundwave nodded slowly. “Soundwave: understands. Thank you.” Then he ended the call.

Rumble just stared at his boss. It must be a night for firsts – as far as he knew, his boss had never thanked an Autobot for anything before either.

“So are we going to a party?” he grinned, when he thought the silence had lasted long enough.

“Unknown,” Soundwave replied. “Soundwave: will try to convince Lord Megatron. Goals: understood. Terms: acceptable.”

“So I guess we’ll see,” Rumble concluded.

Soundwave rested a hand on his cassette’s shoulder. “Affirmative.”

Rumble grinned as his boss walked back out of command. He was fairly sure what kind of reaction that suggestion would get, but he really hoped Soundwave could talk the big boss into it. This party sounded like _fun_.

 

_(On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…)_

Prowl stood enthralled as Jazz walked in. The second in command was listening intently, no part of him moving, optics shuttered and doorwings vibrating gently on his back.

Jazz had never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

“Ya like it, Prowler?” He laced his arms together around his mate’s waist, leaned a chin against his chest.

“I do… I don’t – how did – Jazz, this is…” Prowl’s voice, normally so controlled, was laced with static.

Jazz grinned, pushing himself closer up against the SIC. “Turns out, b’tween me and Blaster, we have everythin’. The chimes of the Gran’ Temple in Iacon. The Polyhexian parade drums. The bells that were used to announce the arrival of Prime in Simfur. The Academy gong. The Vosian Summonin’ Call.” He paused there before continuing. “The Crystal Chimes of Praxus.”

Prowl sank gently into his mate’s embrace, his legs giving out on him. Jazz lowered him gently to the ground. “How?”

“Well, the verse said ‘twelve drummers drummin’’. Ah thought that was dumb. So Ah went with twelve chimes chimin’ instead, tried ta summon the sounds of home for ya.” He nuzzled his mate gently. “Did it work?”

“Oh, Jazz…” Prowl’s voice was more static than anything else, and he leaned into his mate, intakes hitching. Through their bond, Jazz could feel every emotion running through the other black-and-white: joy, intense sadness, awe, loss, despair, gratitude, grief.

Yeah. Yeah, it had worked.

They stayed there on the floor until Prowl’s emotions quieted. Then they listened to the chimes again, the Praxian wrapped up in his lover’s arms.

 

The next day, Prowl summoned every mech on the Ark to a meeting. He waited until the last two mechs had filed in and shut the door behind him before walking up to stand in front of them.

“Welcome,” he said. “I just have a short announcement. I promise I won’t keep you from your duties for long.”

“Oh, please do,” Sideswipe called from the back. He obviously wasn’t looking forward to monitor duty tonight.

“As you know, Christmas Eve is approaching,” Prowl continued, ignoring the frontliner. “On Christmas Eve, there will be a gathering for invited participants at an external location. I have secured the necessary permissions and fuel. You all are, of course, invited.”

Dead silence. Apparently, the Autobots in general were as surprised as Prime had been to hear Prowl, of all mechs, extending invitations.

“So…” Sideswipe grins slowly. “So it’s a party.”

Prowl’s mouth plates quirked slightly to hear the red twin echo Rumble’s words. “Yes, Sideswipe, it is.”

The room erupted with cheers, and Prowl found himself the subject of back-patting and hand-shakes both from command staff and others. It was all quite unusual. Jazz was grinning at him – he could feel the saboteur’s joy and surprise to the bond.

So, for the part they wouldn’t like. He held up his hand to ask for quiet.

“There’s more. I have extended the invitation to others, as well as an offer of truce for twenty-four hours.” He looked up at the mass of suddenly frowning and uncertain mechs. “The Decepticons have been offered fuel and free passage on the condition that they come unarmed and do not break the truce. I have just received confirmation that many of them will be there as well.”

There was a deep silence, and then a heavy clunk. Prowl sighed. “Ratchet, will you see to Red Alert, please?”

The medic shot him a look full of daggers – as well he should, Red’s processor glitches were difficult and time-consuming to deal with – before going to the downed Security Director’s side.

“Are you out of your processor?” an angry voice called. “You invited the slagging ‘Cons?”

“Yes, Cliffjumper, I did,” Prowl replied. He had expected this.

“What in the pit for!? You know they will never honor any truce or cease-fire.”

“I invited them because I deemed it necessary,” Prowl said, raising his voice slightly.

“Necessary for what, exactly? To reduce fuel consumption by having more Autobots killed?” The angry red minibot was standing on a chair now, fists raised in front of him.

“Cliffjumper, that is enough,” Prime said, moving to stand next to Prime. “Prowl has my full support in this. We have many of us forgotten that the only thing that separates us from the Decepticons is the side we ended up fighting for. I firmly believe that most of the Decepticons are not evil mechs at spark. This will give us a chance to remind ourselves what we are fighting for, and what we stand to lose. It is no secret that our race stands on the threshold of extinction.”

Ironhide moved from where he had been leaning up against the wall, off to the side. “The ‘Cons agreed to a truce?”

“Twenty-four hours, starting at 10AM on the twenty-fourth and ending at 10AM on the twenty-fifth,” Prowl nodded. “Megatron accepted the terms.”

“No weapons?”

“No weapons on either side,” Prowl specified. “Both factions will abide by the same terms.”

The weapons specialist was silent for a moment, then nodded. “Sounds good ta me. If the ‘Cons can abide by that, it increases our chances at workin’ out a long-term peace treaty, too.”

Cliffjumper sputtered. “But – they – Ironhide?”

“Thank you, Ironhide,” Prowl said smoothly, glad that his surprise was invisible to most of the mechs there. A twinge of amusement from Jazz proved that not all of them had missed it. The saboteur was smirking at him. Searching the bond hurriedly, Prowl was grateful to find no trace of any negative emotion. Jazz felt proud, intrigued, excited to him.

“So, where’s this party going to be?” Wheeljack asked. “And do you need any help rigging it?” There was a faint hissing from where the minibots were seated, and Wheeljack snorted, a sharp ex-vent full of derision. “Oh, come on, ‘Jumper. Prime, Prowl _and_ Ironhide says it’s a good idea. Then it probably is a good idea.”

“I’m still working on a suitable location,” Prowl replied smoothly. “It will be established by tomorrow at the latest, and you will be informed. Dismissed.”

As the Autobots filed out, their leader turned towards his second.

“So is this what came out of our talk?” he asked, the crinkle of a smile around his optics.

“In a way,” Prowl replied, a hint of a smile on his face. “Thank you for supporting my decision, Prime. I know I should have checked with you first.”

“I have no objections to you doing it this way,” Optimus replied, still with those tell-tale crinkles around his optics. “It is something I wish we would have thought of before. I hope every single Decepticon shows up, even if that digs into our energon stores.”

“Soundwave confirmed that many will show,” Prowl nodded. “But I suppose we will have to wait and see.”

“So we will,” his leader replied. “So we will.” He clasped his second’s shoulder briefly before walking away.

Jazz sauntered up instead, falling into step next to Prowl as he left the room. “So, ya recreatin’ the Christmas peace, Prowler?”

“That was the inspiration, yes,” Prowl admitted, a slight quirk to his mouth plates.

“Ah like it. Though, Ah have to admit Ah’m surprised ya could even consider it without that logic center o’ yours actin’ up.”

“I had to adjust the variables. And accept that there is a lesser chance of success than I would usually be comfortable working with. In the end, though, it’s worth it. Maybe we could lay down the groundwork for ending the war.” He reached out, took his mate’s hand. “We could have a real chance of peace.”

“Ah’d like that. Let’s hope the ‘Cons abide by the terms,” the saboteur agreed.

“Yes,” Prowl said. “We can but hope they do.”

 

Prowl stood at Prime’s right hand side, staring up into the dark sky, looking for lights signalling incoming visitors. He could hear the jet engines.

Predictably, Megatron was the first to land. He touched down directly in front of them, straightening with a smirk. His most prominent feature was lacking – there was no fusion cannon attached to his right arm.

“Welcome, Megatron,” Prime intoned, holding out a cube of vintage high-grade for the Decepticon warlord. “I am glad that you accepted our invitation.”

At his gesture, Prowl, Jazz, and Wheeljack walked over to the lead command trine presenting their own cubes. Starscream, lacking his null rays, sneered at the SIC when he came up to him, but as Thundercracker and Skywarp accepted their cubes he did as well.

“It is one of your most idiotic ideas yet, Prime,” Megatron smirked. “I had to come see it for myself. And far be it from me to reject a free fueling of all my Decepticons at your expense.”

“Nevertheless, it pleases me that you are here,” Prime replied, and Prowl could tell there was a smile under that facemask. “Please, come with us.”

He turned and walked between the trees, heading for the little valley they’d appropriated for this purpose. The rest of them followed, though Starscream in particular shot nasty glances at any Autobot he passed.

Prowl stood aside, waiting until everyone had passed. As the Decepticons passed him – all unarmed, all hesitant and arrogant at once, all shooting strange looks at the Autobots – Soundwave made his way towards him.

Prowl inclined his head slightly. “Soundwave.”

“Prowl.” The Decepticon third took up position next to him, eyeing the passing Decepticons. “Invitation: appreciated.”

“You are welcome,” the black and white replied. “I am glad your leader was agreeable to the idea.”

“Megatron: intrigued,” Soundwave replied. “Trap: expected.”

“We have no ill intentions towards you tonight.”

“Soundwave: understands,” the cassette master nodded, and Prowl got the distinct feeling that the other was smiling. “Thank you.”

“Come,” Prowl said, a tiny smile of his own on his mouth plates. “Or all the best high grade will be gone.”

The navy mech fell into step next to him as they followed Prime and the others through the trees.

“Soundwave: curious,” he said after a while. “Mingling: intended?”

“Yes, I hope so, Soundwave,” Prowl replied. “It would not be much point to this if no one talks to each other.”

The TIC nodded. “Soundwave: will be an example, then,” he intoned. “Cassettes: encouraged to talk to everyone.” He pressed a button on his upper chest, opening his chest compartment to let all six cassettes out. “Caution: do not get overcharged.”

Rumble grinned up at them. “Gotcha, boss. All of the fun, none of the chaos.”

Prowl arched an optic ridge at the little cassette. If Soundwave could be an example, so could he. “I thought you and your brother were the very epitome of chaos?”

“Nah, that’s your set of twins,” Rumble replied with a mocking grin. “Me’n Frenzy are the good guys. You must have not gotten the memo.”

“Apparently,” Prowl said. “I will take note of that now, then.”

“Rumble: desist.” Soundwave turned to the cassette. “Behave.”

“You got it.” Rumble grinned, then took off like a speeding racer, aiming for the table of high-grade that Sideswipe was manning.

“Cassettes: young,” Soundwave said. “Eager.”

“That is good,” Prowl replied. “It’s as it should be.” He turned to Soundwave, inclining his head. “Enjoy the party, Soundwave.”

The cassette master nodded, and followed Rumble.

 

Jazz was enjoying himself. He still wasn’t quite sure how Prowl had managed to come up with such a crack-brained idea without his processors locking up, but he was grateful. Everything seemed to be going well, too.

He ambled over to where Blaster was controlling the music now streaming from the speakers hung in the trees around the clearing. They’d agreed on the music together, balancing Earth’s Christmas music with Cybertronian electronic melodies.

“Jazz, my mech,” Blaster grinned. “Wanna give me a break? I need to let the little guys out.”

“Sure thing,” Jazz replied, moving over to stand where Blaster had been. “I saw Soundwave’s lil’ hellions were roamin’ free on the way here.”

“I did, too,” Blaster said, opening his chest. “C’mon guys, out you get. Have fun, but keep your heads, okay?”

“Okay,” Eject chirped, then darted off with his brother. Steeljaw stretched and shook his mane, gave Jazz an arrogant look and then wandered in among the groups of mechs that were coming together, fuelled by high-grade and the twinkling lights hung in the trees.

Jazz grinned at the sight. Sideswipe was serving up energon mixed to specs, much like you’d find in a party back on Cybertron before the war, and damned if Jazz knew how he’d managed to pull that together. Still, it looked like everyone appreciated the effort. The invisible wall between Autobot and Decepticon was beginning to come down.

“Hey, man, look,” Blaster chuckled, pointing. Jazz turned to see Bluestreak, sitting leaned up against Sunstreaker, with Soundwave’s youngest cassette on his bent knee. Ratbat was chirping and moving eagerly, and Bluestreak was grinning and nodding, while Sunny was absorbed in every move his lover made.

“And there,” Blaster repeated. He pointed at the other side of the clearing, where Smokescreen was talking easily to Ramjet, the larger mech chuckling and shaking his head.

Now that Jazz looked, he could see it all over the clearing. In Rumble and Ratchet snarking at each other, both grinning, and Fireflight goofing off in front of an indulgent Thundercracker, in Reflector nervously approaching Wheeljack and Perceptor, in Silverbolt laughing at something Skywarp was saying, in First Aid and Swoop calmly paying attention to something Hook was showing them on a datapad.

“Primus, Jazz,” Blaster murmured, turning to his friend. “Do you think Prowl just ended the war?”

Jazz laughed, somewhat disbelievingly. “Hard to see the war now, ain’t it? Still… Ah think it’s a good sign, but it’s too soon ta tell. These’re just foot soldiers.” He turned, scanning the meadow for the key players. “We need ta keep our optics on command.”

 

Starscream was still nursing his first cube, savouring it slowly. It was an ancient vintage, a pre-war brew from Iacon by the taste of it, and it had been vorns since he’d come across similar quality. It was not for guzzling, as he noticed his trine mates had done.

Moronic fools.

He had retreated to the edge of the clearing, hiding under a tree, sneering at the displays of camaraderie and enjoyment that were taking place in front of him. It was all horribly wrong – the Autobots were enemies, not acquaintances or friends - or dates, Primus forbid. And he could tell by the looks Skywarp was sending Silverbolt just what was going on, yes he could. He hadn’t been sparked yesterday.

He growled under his breath, sipping at that excellent vintage again.

“Lord Starscream.” The cultured, elegant voice disrupted his disdain at the so-called festivities. Starscream hated it instantly.

Still, it had called him Lord. Not many bothered with his rightful title these days.

He turned slightly, looking at the voice’s owner. Looking up, into the bold blue optics of a barefaced Optimus Prime.

“Prime,” he nodded, concealing his surprise behind his customary sneer.

“I trust the vintage pleases you?” the Autobot leader said. “It’s from my own personal stock.”

“And so you give it to the Decepticons,” Starscream smirked. “That’s typical of you, Prime.”

“Yes, well, I thought the occasion merited something special,” the Prime replied, turning slightly so he could see the crowd of mingling mechs on the valley floor.

“This isn’t an occasion,” Starscream sneered. “This is an excuse for Megatron to fuel his troops before he throws them into yet another puerile and ill-planned attack. Congratulations, Prime, that was an excellent plan.”

To his surprise, Optimus chuckled. “I have to admit, I did consider that. I still considered it worth the risk.”

“Why?” Starscream asked, curious despite himself. There was no good reason to fuel an enemy, was there?

Was there?

“Because of this,” Prime said simply, arm sweeping to take in the scene in front of them. “Because I have to believe that we are not so far gone as a species that peace would be impossible. Because I needed to see that we could all work together if needed. Because I needed to know how much it would take to bring us back together.” He smirked, a strange expression to see. Though, Starscream thought, any expression was strange to see on that usually covered face. “And, ultimately, because this decision was not up to me. Prowl merely asked me for permission to hold a party. He failed to mention the specifics.”

Starscream couldn’t help it. He laughed. He laughed loudly, freely, shaking his head at the entire affair. "Not so all-powerful, are you, Prime?” he grinned, when he finally got himself back under control.

Primus, but that had felt good. He hadn’t laughed like that in ages.

“I never claimed to be,” Optimus replied, a pleased smile on his mouth plates. “Tell me, Starscream, do you dance?”

Starscream sobered instantly, eyeing the other with suspicion. What new trickery was this? “Dance?”

“Yes,” Optimus confirmed. “I do believe Blaster has in his collection a piece of music I heard long ago, at an ascension ball for one of the Towers lords. And I know, considering your rank, that you probably had to learn all the styles from back then. So I ask you again,” the Autobot leader said, setting his cube down and stretching out a hand in invitation to Starscream, “do you dance, Starscream?”

 

Rumble choked on his energon. The fuel went down the wrong way, leaving him coughing and sputtering as Frenzy pounded his back to get it back up.

“Forgot how ta drink high-grade, didya, runt?” Ironhide grinned from his seat next to them. “Ya have to swallow it, not inhale it.”

Rumble shook his head, still coughing. “I - know that – you idiot - look!” He pointed with one energon-covered hand at the center of the clearing. He could hear Frenzy’s gasp and Ironhide’s grunt of surprise as they spotted what he had.

At the center of the clearing, a couple was dancing. The music had changed to something older than the pit, and Optimus fragging Prime was leading Starscream through intricate maneuvers that looked to have been made for a ballroom floor and not for rough pine needles and rock. Somehow, though, Rumble almost could believe that the rock and organic material was an illusion, and the couple dancing really were moving over a chequered floor beneath a domed ceiling.

Prime had a hand against the air commander’s lower back, his other hand holding Starscream’s own. Their movements were controlled, but liquid, graceful, neither of them looking away from the other through twirls, lifts and turns.

Starscream’s optics were shining.

Rumble had never seen anything more nauseating in his life.

He looked down on his sadly empty cube. “If this is to be the order of the night, I need more high-grade,” he pronounced. “You need any, Frenz?”

But Frenzy was staring at the dancing couple, wide-eyed and entranced. Rumble made a noise of disgust, taking care to knock against his twin as he passed.

He needed high-grade. A lot of it. Soundwave’s orders be damned.

 

Bumblebee vented deeply. He could do this. If Prime was dancing with Starscream, he himself could slagging well manage this. Granted, Prime was bigger and had thicker plating, but Bumblebee was spec ops, for Primus’ sake. That had to count for something.

Plus, if this really did go badly, there were certainly enough medics on site to fix him up.

He steeled himself, straightening and pulling his shoulders back, and then headed directly for the tall, grey figure.

“Lord Megatron.”

Those red optics turned to him, instantly weighing and dismissing him. And Bumblebee almost lost his nerve. Shooting at Megatron? Sure. Attempting to blow up both him and the ship he flew in on? Sure, no problem.

Walking up to Megatron and offering him a cube of high-grade? Oh pit no.

Still, he was already there, in front of the warlord, with the cube in his hand…

“Lord Megatron, I brought you another cube,” Bumblebee squeaked, instantly cursing his errant vocalizer.

“Hmm,” the warlord said. “So I see. Why?”

“You see to have emptied yours, sir,” Bee stammered. “And this is Sideswipe’s special brew, with nickel and zink. You should try it.”

“Nickel _and_ zink?” The red optics widened slightly.

Bumblebee nodded eagerly. “Yeah, he says it gives an extra kick. You want to try it?”

The Decepticon leader stared at him for a moment longer, then reached out for the cube. Bumblebee held back a sigh of relief.

“Hnnh,” Megatron said after downing half the cube. “He’s not wrong. That has some power to it.”

Bumblebee nodded. And since the Decepticon leader hadn’t told him to get lost, he turned and leaned against the next tree over from him.

Megatron looked down at him incredulously. “What are you doing?”

“I’m mingling,” Bumblebee replied, trying hard to make sure that his terror wasn’t audible in his voice. “That was the point of tonight, after all.”

“Hmm. And you thought it a good idea to mingle with me, did you?”

Bumblebee forced his intakes to remain steady, forced his fans to not kick in, even though his terrified frame was beginning to overheat. “Well, yes. You’re an honored guest. You shouldn’t be sitting here alone at the edge of things.”

Megaton stared at him. “You do know I can flatten you with my pede.”

Bumblebee made himself stare back. “Yes. Are you going to?”

There was a long silence. Then, surprisingly, Megatron grinned. “I suppose not. Not tonight.”

Bumblebee watched in utter astonishment as the warlord sat down with a groan and the puff of tired pistons, and leaned his back against the tree. “So tell me,” the warlord said, waving a hand in indication of the scene going on in front of them. “What do you think about tonight’s entertainment?”

Bumblebee shrugged, sitting down as well. He didn’t think the night could get any more surreal, after all. Might as well run with it.


	3. A time for believing

The party was coming to an end. This late in the year the sun didn’t rise until mid-morning, but the night was more than halfway over, and despite Sideswipe’s excellent efforts with the high-grade, the mechs in the clearing were slowing down.

“Well, that’s that,” Ratchet sighed, raising his cube in a toast.

Soundwave echoed the motion. “Affirmative. Soundwave: did not take own advice. Got heavily overcharged.”

Ratchet chuckled. “Nah, you’re not so bad, Sounders. I’ve seen worse.” He looked around the clearing. “Pit, I can see worse from here.”

“Yes,” the masked mech intoned. “Coneheads: can’t handle their high-grade.” He sipped at his cube. “Sparklings.”

Ratchet snorted a laugh. The Decepticon spymaster had a sense of humor. And here they’d wondered if he was actually a drone.

Soundwave put down his cube and turned towards Ratchet. “Query: party considered a success?”

“I don’t know what criteria Prowl and Prime are using, but from where I’m sitting?” Ratchet eyed the mechs in the clearing, from the pile of recharging Coneheads, to the Constructicons singing softly along with Mirage on one of the old Towers songs, to Thundercracker sitting calmly sipping his energon with a recharging Fireflight in his lap, stroking his wings gently. “Yeah, I’ll say so.”

“Good.” The navy mech picked up his cube again and emptied it. “War: been going on for too long. Cassettes: never seen peace.” He turned his head towards Ratchet again. “Soundwave: also tired of constant fighting. Autobots and Decepticons: same species. Must move past this hatred. Or else we will not survive. Maybe this will help.”

“Maybe it will,” Ratchet agreed. He was still surprised that Soundwave’s mode of speaking had evened out the more high-grade he imbibed, suggesting that it really was a conscious choice. “Maybe it will.” He lifted his cube again towards the other mech. “I’ll drink to that.”

Soundwave raised his empty cube, knocking it against Ratchet’s.

 

“I want to thank you,” Optimus said, smiling slightly.

Starscream leaned back, looking up at the Prime. “What for?”

“For the most pleasant evening I have had in a long time,” the Autobot leader replied, looking down at the Seeker leaning up against him.

Starscream sneered at that, looking away.

“No, I mean it,” Prime insisted, one hand lifting to stroke the edge of one wing gently. “It is… invigorating… to talk to someone who remembers as I do. I am deeply fond of my friends, but none of them save Ironhide and Ratchet remember those days, and neither of them think of the socializing with joy. I am glad to have been allowed to remember this, to reenact it.” The hand moved against the wing edge again. “You are good company, Starscream.”

It was hard work keeping an irritated mask when his wings were being teased so delightfully. “I suppose it has been nice,” he conceded with ill grace.

Prime chuckled. “Is it so difficult to accept a compliment?”

“Those seldom come without barbs, nowadays,” Starscream replied, though slag it all to pit if he knew why he bothered. There was no point to telling Prime any of these things.

Then again, there had been no point in talking to Prime this entire evening, either, reminiscing about Vos and the Academy, the festivals to the glory of Primus that they’d both had to attend, and the feasts that invariably followed them. It was all pointless.

But still he’d done it.

“Yes, I can imagine,” Optimus sighed. “This war has taken its toll on all of us, Megatron as well.”

There was silence for a long time. Then…

“Is it wrong to not be happy with the way things are, Optimus?” Starscream asked quietly. “Is it wrong to long for something better?”

He blamed it on the high-grade, really. It had to be. There was no way he’d come out and say all these things if not. It really was a most excellent vintage.

“Of course it is not,” Prime sighed, hand briefly squeezing Starscream’s shoulder. “That is why we fight, after all. For something better.”

“Not me,” Starscream snorted, the undignified sound marred with disdain. “Not us. That’s not the Decepticon way.”

“Why do you fight, then, Starscream?” Optimus asked softly.

He didn’t know. By Primus, he didn’t know anymore. It used to be for something – it used to mean something, once. That time was long past.

Prime interpreted his silence correctly. “Perhaps, my friend, it is time to stake out another route.”

Starscream had never entertained that thought before. But here, now, leaning back in Optimus’s arms, he could believe it.

Yes, for tonight, he would believe it.

 

“I don’t want to fight anymore,” Skywarp slurred.

“Skywarp, you’re overcharged,” Silverbolt murmured quietly from his position against the Seeker’s side.

“Course I am,” the teleporter snorted. “That was the point. And it’s irrel – irrely – it doesn’t matter. I still don’t want to fight anymore.”

“But it’s your job,” the Aerialbot replied.

“Slag that,” Skywarp sneered. “I ain’t gotten paid in currency worth having in vorns, Megatron pounds my trine leader into slag for every real or imagined slight, and we barely have the energon to survive. We’re stuck between the Autobots and Megatron’s fusion cannon. No, this ain’t a job. There’s just no other choice for us.” He sighed heavily, warm ex-vent ghosting over Silverbolt’s plating. “But I wish there was.”

“You’d never be saying this if you were sober,” Silverbolt said.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t. I’m not stupid.”

“Contrary to popular belief,” Silverbolt joked lightly, eyeing the taller black and purple flier. He tried sitting up straighter, but instead ended up keeling slightly over into Skywarp’s lap.

Apparently, the Decepticon wasn’t the only one who was overcharged.

Skywarp laughed, though, hands gently steadying the sliding Autobot. “Hey, I worked hard to get that rep. Better not ruin it. Come on.” He tugged the white shoulders gently. “The party’s winding down. Megatron’s prob’ly gonna call the retreat any minute now.” He grinned at his own joke. “C’mon Silverbolt. You can’t recharge in my lap, unfortunately.”

Silverbolt twisted, looking up at the Seeker’s silver faceplate. “Would you want me to? If we could?”

Skywarp’s grin faded, turning into a sad smile. Purple fingers ghosted across Silverbolt’s cheek. “Yeah. Yeah, I would.”

That had to be good enough, Silverbolt decided. No use pining after what he couldn’t have.

After all, Skywarp was right. There wasn’t that much of a choice involved.

 

Thundercracker stroked red and white plating gently. The recharging Aerialbot in his lap was so young. He couldn’t get past it.

If this was Cybertron, back before the war, Fireflight would never even have been let near a weapon yet. He would still be sheltered, protected, cared for within the youngling training centers of Vos. Instructors would be teaching him aerial tactics and military history, and they would be working on his focus and concentration, trying to get him to stop flying into things.

He should have been sheltered and protected. Instead, he’d been thrust into a war within the vorn he’d onlined for the first time, expected to carry burdens that mechs many times his age struggled with.

And all Thundercracker could do about it was sit there and stroke the red and white plating. Giving him at least one night where he didn’t have to be a soldier, where he could act the youngling he was.

Thundercracker looked up at the sound of approaching pedes. Silverbolt came towards them, slowly, swaying a bit. Skywarp followed just behind him, one arm around the younger flier, purple hand resting on white hip.

“Hey,” the Aerialbot said, sinking gently down on his knees in front of the dark blue Seeker. “Thanks for taking care of my baby brother.”

“It was my pleasure,” Thundercracker rumbled softly, hands never stilling over the flier in his lap. “Thanks for taking care of mine.”

“I’m not sure who took care of whom, really,” Silverbolt replied, smiling softly up at the black and purple mech behind him. Skywarp sat down with a tired grin, pulling the tricolored Autobot into his lap.

Thundercracker smiled slightly at the sight, shaking his head. “Don’t let Megatron see you. Or Starscream.”

Skywarp grinned brightly. “You’re kidding, right? Have you seen what Screamer’s been doing with Prime tonight?”

Thundercracker frowned slightly. “I saw them dance…”

“Yeah, that was nothing,” Skywarp replied, a wicked smirk on his face. “Look.”

Thundercracker turned his head in the direction his brother was indicating. He stared. Then he rebooted his optics. Not that it helped – he could still see them.

Starscream was sitting in Prime’s lap, under the trees. The Seeker watched, incredulous, as his trine leader leaned back, looking up at the Autobot leader’s face, grinning at something the Prime was saying.

Thundercracker hadn’t seen that smile in vorns.

And then…

“Primus,” Silverbolt snickered. “Is Optimus…?”

“I think he is,” Thundercracker mumbled, not quite able to conceal the surprise on his face. “Well, that takes you off the hook, Warp. Though Megatron is probably going to kill Starscream.”

“Nah, he won’t,” Skywarp grinned evilly, tightening his hold on Silverbolt in the process. “Look over there.”

Thundercracker turned again, towards where the red Lambo twin was packing down his energon stand. In the shadows next to them, the towering grey warbuild was barely visible. And next to him, looking tiny in comparison, a small yellow shape.

“Is that… Bumblebee?” Silverbolt asked, astounded.

“Yep,” Skywarp said, popping the ‘p’. “He’s been sitting there all night. Don’t know what they’re doing, really, but I heard Megs laugh a while back so it can’t be all bad.” He turned to his brother. “It’s going to be the gossip of both bases tomorrow, TC. How come you missed it?”

Thundercracker shrugged, careful not to jostle the figure in his lap. “I guess I was distracted.”

Silverbolt gave him an understanding smile. “He is very distracting, isn’t he?”

“Very.” Black digits ghosted over Fireflight’s pale faceplate. “He’s so… innocent.”

“Yeah.” Silverbolt sighed, leaning back against Skywarp’s chest. “I hope he never loses that. But the longer this war goes on…”

“I know what you mean.” Thundercracker eyed Silverbolt – the way he was relaxing into his trine mate, the way Skywarp’s arms rested around the Aerialbot’s waist. “Are you all that young?”

“We’re all the same age,” was the reply. “And we’re adults – though barely. Flight just seems younger because of his fascination with everything. He has an almost sparkling-like nature.”

“I noticed,” Thundercracker murmured, stroking the square helm. He had spent the entire evening noticing. Fireflight was eager, excited, interested in the world around him in a way Thundercracker had never seen before, and though the young Aerialbot had been scared of him at first, he’d still come over to ask about his sonic booms, hanging onto Thundercracker’s every word with wide, fascinated optics.

Thundercracker had quickly become completely captivated with his young audience. He hadn’t talked to another mech all night.

Much like Skywarp had spent all evening with his optics glued to Silverbolt’s form, and Prime hadn’t walked away from Starscream.

What in the pit was happening to them? And what the hell did it mean?

His gaze wandered to Megatron again as the grey mech laughed, mock-punching the little minibot next to him. Almost knocking Bumblebee to the ground in the process – his leader was not used to dealing with minibots, and he certainly wasn’t used to pulling his punches. Judging by the stack of empty cubes next to him, he was far past the ability to think that he even should.

Thundercracker felt a dread settle in his tanks at the sight, and unconsciously pulled Fireflight closer. What would happen when Megatron woke up tomorrow?

Who would he take it out on this time?

 

Bumblebee righted himself with more effort than he’d usually need, thanks to the stack of empty cubes next to him. A small stack, true, compared to Megatron’s, but then again, the Decepticon leader was at least twice his size.

“So,” he giggled, pushing himself back against the grey plating, “so the squid actually got sucked into his intakes?”

“Yes,” Megatron grinned. “It took Hook a whole day to get it all back out. Turns out they’re soft little critters, so Wildrider’s intakes pretty much pulverized it.” He took another sip of his cube, one of the last Sideswipe had prepared with the zinc/nickel mix. “It stank, too. Hook will tell you the smell lingered in the repair bay for at least a week.”

“Priceless,” Bumblebee snickered. “I have noticed that the _Nemesis_ tends to attract ocean creatures. Must be the light.”

Megatron looked down at him, humor in his red optics. “Yes, you’re quite the little spy, aren’t you?” He took another swig. “I imagine you know my ship better than I do myself.”

Bumblebee shrugged. “It’s my job. So, yeah. But I think Soundwave’s cassettes knows it better than we do.”

“Let’s hope so,” Megatron grinned. “They’re on my side, after all. You, little spy, are not.” Grey fingers pushed down at Bumblebee’s helm carefully, and Bumblebee grinned.

He barely kept back the question of why there had to be sides at all. Overcharged or not, mellowing or not, he doubted Megatron would take kindly to that question. He’d probably get pummeled into the ground.

Megatron stood, looking down at Bumblebee’s empty cubes. “Another?”

Bee shook his head regretfully. “Not if I want to get back to the Ark under my own power tonight. Thanks, though.”

Megatron just grunted, walking over to Sideswipe and picking up a pair of cubes. Coming back, he handed one to Bumblebee. “Low-grade,” he said, lowering himself back to the ground with a sigh. “It’ll help diffuse the charge. Your red hellion says he’s shutting down the high-grade and making sure everyone has some of this.”

“That’s clever,” Bumblebee replied, taking a swig of the nearly colorless energon. Then he giggled. “I don’t want to think of the state most of us will be in tomorrow.”

Megatron chuckled quietly. “You’re probably right. More than a few of my Decepticons have drunk themselves into a stupor tonight.”

Bumblebee nodded. “The Autobots, too. Will you be able to get them home?”

The grey mech nodded. “They usually move if I threaten to shoot them. If Skywarp and Astrotrain are online still, they might take some of them. If not, they’ll have to get home on their own power.”

“You wouldn’t make sure they got home safely?”

Megatron snorted. “That what Prime does? Sounds like his thing. No. If they’re dumb enough to get overcharged to the point where they can’t walk, they deserve to be left behind and good riddance to them. They usually manage to move, though. They know the punishment that awaits them if they don’t.” He paused, his eyes roving the clearing, looking for somebody. “Except Starscream. Starscream always manages to slag me off to the point where I’d rather deactivate him.” He looked down at Bumblebee. “Don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“Me neither,” Bumblebee said, and he really didn’t. The form of discipline practiced aboard the Nemesis sounded more like tyranny to him than actual leadership. He decided to risk his plating to try to enlighten the Decepticon leader. He would probably be okay, even if he ticked Megatron off - Ratchet was probably still online, and even if he wasn’t, First Aid definitely was. The Protectobots never got overcharged to such a degree.

Well, except for Blades. But that was another story altogether.

“Prime encourages moderation, at least in public,” he said. “We have some pretty wild parties aboard the Ark, though. Last time, Wheeljack fell asleep in the rec room doorway and everyone just stepped over him to get in and out. Sideswipe pulled him off to berth in the end. We tend to tidy them up when the party ends.”

Megatron laughed quietly. “So you’re telling me that the little red demon and your trigger-happy weapons specialist will be carted home?”

“Ironhide is no problem,” Bumblebee grinned. “He’ll wake up when Ratchet prods him. Cliffjumper and the others, well…” He looked at where his fellow minibots were lying, the red devil in question leaning up against Brawn with Windcharger curled up in his lap. “Prime will probably take them back himself. They can fit in his trailer.”

“Prime will haul them back himself?” Megatron stared at Bumblebee incredulously. For a brief moment, Bee wondered if he’d given too much away, but he didn’t see the danger in Megatron knowing that Prime took care of his overcharged team. It was pretty much a given, considering the nature of the Autobot leader.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “It’s what he does. He cares.”

“You’re implying that I do not,” Megatron says, looking into his cube.

Bumblebee turned towards him, feeling particularly brave. “I don’t know you well enough to tell. But I think that if you do care, you have a strange way of showing it.”

Megatron grunted. “It’s the way they expect.”

Bumblebee nodded. “That’s as may be. But is it what they expect because it,s the way it should be,” he asked, eyeing Megatron shrewdly, “or is it what they expect because it’s what you trained them to expect from you?”

For a long, long while, Megatron just stared at him. Bumblebee forced himself to remain still. He was fairly certain that if Megatron had had his fusion cannon, he would have been shot a long time ago. From his viewpoint in the _Nemesis_ vents, he’d seen the warlord shoot his subordinates for less. But, the brave feeling still remaining and not chased off yet by the low-grade, he decided to push some more.

“Why do they follow you, sir?”

“Because they want to fight to free Cybertron from oppression,” was the answer. It sounded like something Megatron had learned by rote – the default answer to such a question. Bumblebee shook his head.

“That may be why they followed you at first. But not now. Cybertron is dead. Its inhabitants are dead or scattered across the known universe. The Senate is gone, Sentinel is gone, everything’s gone. Only Prime’s left, and he’s mainly fighting because you are. So why do you fight, sir? Why do they follow you?”

The silence this time was even longer, stretching past uncomfortable and well into unbearable. Megatron was simply staring into his cube, swirling its contents around and around.

“Tell you what I think?” Bumblebee asked, slightly hesitant. The warlord finally looked up.

“Why not,” he sighed. “I haven’t been able to stop you so far.”

“I think they follow you because they think they have to,” Bumblebee said. “There’s no other choice.”

“By that logic, there’s no other choice for you, either,” Megatron pointed out. “You have to follow Prime.”

Bumblebee shook his head. “No, we don’t. That’s the difference. We choose to. Every one of us, every day, chooses to follow him. If we were to leave, head for a Neutral colony or something, he wouldn’t stop us. He’d stop anyone who tried to defect to you, yes, but not if we genuinely, truly just wanted to leave.” He took a last swallow from his cube, emptying it. “I think you would shoot them if they tried to leave.”

“Of course I would,” Megatron snorted. “Deserters are cowards. Wait.” He turned to Bumblebee again, and this time, the force of his glare was enough make Bumblebee move backwards. “You’re saying they follow me because they’re scared of me.”

Bumblebee hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. And desperate. Because they’ve got nowhere else to go.”

This time, he did get punched. Bumblebee supposed he deserved that.

 

Jazz watched as Soundwave moved among the mechs in the clearing, gathering up his cassettes.

“Ravage: return.”

The cybercat slunk over, taking care not to step on anyone as he made his way to his master. He leapt, transforming on the fly and slotting himself into his master’s chest.

Jazz had seen it many times before. But never so unhurried, so relaxed. Soundwave wasn’t ordering Ravage into safety, he was telling the cassette that it was time to go home. And Ravage came, easily, calmly, taking his time.

Laserbeak and Buzzsaw followed, flying in and docking quietly, and Soundwave turned in a slow circle, looking for the other three. Jazz stepped forward. “Frenzy’n Rumble were with Ironhide earlier,” he offered. “Over there.”

Soundwave turned in the direction he pointed. “Thank you.”

Jazz grinned. “No problem. Ah know Blaster’s really attached to his little family, Ah bet y’are to yours as well.”

“Cassettes: vital to the Decepticon cause,” Soundwave replied. Then he turned to Jazz. “Also: parts of my own spark. My bonded family. My loved ones.”

Jazz nodded, falling into step next to the navy and white mech. “Figured. That’s what Blaster says, too.” He looked around for signs of the Decepticon twins. “No matter how much trouble they cause, how mad he gets at’em, he always forgives’em, always welcomes’em back.”

Soundwave nodded. “Soundwave: different. Cassettes must behave. Decepticons: dangerous.”

“Yeah, Ah guess it’s different for your guys. Ya have ta be more wary.”

“Soundwave: also not different. Always welcomes cassettes back. Always a safe haven.” One dark hand moved, gently touching the glass in front of his cassette deck. “Always loved.”

Jazz grinned. There was almost emotion in that strangely-timbred voice.

Soundwave turned, heading towards the edge of the wood where a pile of mechs were heaped up. Jazz spotted at least three cassettes, one recharging Skydive, Hound, half of two Constructicons and what looked like Trailbreaker’s legs sticking out beneath it all.

“Rumble: return,” Soundwave intoned.

No one moved.

Jazz chuckled. “Can ya force-transform him, Soundwave? ‘Cause Ah think this group is all out cold. Hang on, Ah’ll comm Blaster, have him pick up his two miscreants.”

“Assistance: appreciated,” Soundwave grunted, shifting Skydive off the pile to reveal Scavenger’s head.

Blaster came walking over, Hot Spot, First Aid and Hook following. First Aid sighed as they reached the pile of recharging mechs, shaking his head. “There will be a lot of sore processors tomorrow.”

Jazz nodded with an easy smile. “Still, probably worth it, doncha think? C’mon, Spot,” he said, looking at the tall Protectobot, “ya have the strength ta move these mechs. Help us detangle’em, huh?”

“Yes, sir,” Hot Spot replied, taking the still offline Skydive from Soundwave and placing him carefully against a tree. Blaster moved in then, picking up Eject and triggering the transformation that let him be slotted into the cassette master’s chest. Steeljaw followed, actually onlining enough to do the transformation himself.

Jazz helped Hook pull Scavenger and a slightly twitching Mixmaster from the pile. “C’mon, mechs,” the Constructicon medic said gruffly, “online already. You know Megatron’ll leave you if you don’t get up.”

“Here,” First Aid said, kneeling down and injecting some sort of fluid directly into the recharging Constructicons’ lines. Hook stared at him, and First Aid looked back, a small smirk on what was visible of his face. “That’ll help with the hangover, and hopefully get them on their feet long enough to manage the trek.” He pulled at Hound’s arm, injecting him as well, before moving to Trailbreaker. “It’s Ratchet’s recipe – he calls it the ‘vial of vile’. Because if you have to take it with your energon in the morning, as most do, it turns the whole cube a nasty green color.”

Hook stared for a moment longer, then nodded and prodded his team mates with his pede. “Thanks. C’mon you pests, up.”

Soundwave picked up an offline Rumble, stroking down his back to trigger the transformation sequence. “Rumble: told not to get overcharged.”

“Ah, don’t be too mad at him, boss,” Frenzy piped up from behind them. He was walking up alongside a slightly worse-for-wear Rewind, supporting the older cassette with one hand under his elbow. “Rumble’s processors stalled when Prime danced with Starscream, and he’s been trying to clear out the image since then.”

Jazz couldn’t blame him. He’d been trying to forget that sight, too. Especially the sickeningly pleased look on Screamer’s faceplate.

“Frenzy: return.” Soundwave said, and the cassette complied with a tired grin. Rewind stumbled over to Blaster, looking up at him pathetically.

“Yeah, come on, little mech,” Blaster said softly, opening his deck. “Come recharge.” The cassette docked with a tired sigh.

Soundwave moved away from the now-awakening – thanks for First Aid and the vial of vile – pile of mechs, looking around somewhat anxiously at the stirring mechs across the clearing.

“Ya missin’ one, Sounders?” Jazz asked, knowing the answer.

“Ratbat: unaccounted for,” Soundwave replied, still scanning the clearing. “Ratbat: tiny. Youngest cassette. Unused to high-grade, never sampled. Easily overlooked if offline.”

Jazz understood. “Ya’re afraid he’ll get trampled.”

“Affirmative.” The nervous way Soundwave moved belied the calmness of his words. The cassette master was worried.

Jazz turned his comm on, sending out an Autobot-wide broadcast. *Jazz here, mechs. Anyone got eyes on Ratbat? Soundwave’s gettin’ twitchy.*

*He’s here,* Bluestreak replied. *Hang on, I see you. I’ll bring him.*

Jazz nodded, reaching out and taking hold of Soundwave’s elbow. The Decepticon turned sharply, visor aimed at his own. “Easy, Soundwave,” Jazz said softly. “They’re bringin’ him now.”

He let the spy-master go, and Soundwave turned in the direction Jazz indicated. Bluestreak was weaving his way through the unsteady or still recharging mechs in the clearing, a bright smile on his faceplate, his hands cradled close to his chest.

“Hey, Soundwave,” he said in greeting as he came up to them. “I’m sorry, Ratbat fell into recharge with us a while back, and I didn’t have the heart to wake him, he’s so cute when he’s sleeping. He didn’t get overcharged, just tired, so I’ve held onto him for a while, I hope that was okay.” He lowered his hands, letting Soundwave see the recharging cassette form nestled in his palms. “He’s an adorable little guy, really, isn’t he? You must be very proud of him.”

“Ratbat: priceless,” Soundwave said softly, reaching out and picking up his smallest cassette carefully. “Also, young. Soundwave: grateful.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Bluestreak grinned. “As I said, he’s really adorable, and he’s been asking us all sorts of questions and talking himself into recharge. Even Sunny liked him, said he’s not bad for a sparkling, which is high praise from him, you know.”

Soundwave carefully transformed Ratbat and tucked him into his chest next to his brothers. “Ratbat: not a sparkling anymore. Would be offended. Youngling now, by several vorns.” His visor flashed, and Jazz just knew the Decepticon was grinning. “Ratbat: wrong. Still sparkling inside, though youngling frame.”

“Like Fireflight,” Skydive snorted from his position near the trees. “Except, y’know, adult instead of youngling.”

“Comparison: accurate,” Soundwave nodded. “Thank you, Bluestreak.”

Jazz just grinned. Whatever had possessed Prowl to invite the Decepticons to this, he doubted his tactical computer could have foreseen this outcome. Still, he would be lying if he said he didn’t think it was absolutely amazing.

He squeezed Soundwave’s shoulder once, and left to find his mate.

 

Prowl watched as Optimus Prime walked to where Sideswipe had just finished dismantling his energon stand and turned to the assembled gathering. Some were swaying unsteadily on their feet, some were still sitting down, and Cliffjumper and the Coneheads were still recharging despite the vial of vile that First Aid had been administrating to everyone. Starscream was staring enraptured at Prime, which was almost enough to make Prowl’s processor glitch, and what was worse was that Prime was gazing back just as fondly.

Then again, the reason he’d set this up was to make both sides see each other as friends instead of enemies. He just didn’t think it would work quite this well. And it wasn’t just those two, either.

“Autobots, Decepticons,” Prime began, “Cybertronians. I think it’s about time we call this a night, don’t you?” A few chuckles greeted that, and Ironhide shook his head wryly. “I want to thank you all for a great evening,” Optimus continued. “It’s my hope that we’ve all discovered new sides to ourselves and each other tonight. Maybe we can move forward on a more common ground. Megatron?”

The grey warlord walked forward from the back of the clearing, making his way through the mechs. They moved aside for him quickly, darting out of his way before he came close.

_Friends in the ranks are all well and good,_ Prowl thought. _But it’s him we need to consider._

Megatron stopped when he was still some distance from Optimus, standing opposite him but still outside the crowd. “Prime. Thank you for the high-grade.”

Prowl fought his rapidly-crashing logic circuits. There wasn’t a smidge of sarcasm in the Decepticon leader’s tone.

“It was my pleasure, Megatron, believe me,” Prime replied, inclining his head slightly. “Now. There are still a few hours left of the truce, but we both have mechs who will not be able to get home under their own power. Will you grant an additional four hours to allow safe returns for all our mechs?”

Megatron sneered at the offline Coneheads, then nodded. “Granted.”

“Thank you,” Optimus said, and Prowl could tell he was smiling again. “Then there is nothing left to say. Except, I suppose,” and here his eyes twinkled merrily, “happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.”

“Sirs,” Thundercracker said, stepping forward. “Requesting permission to stay behind, making sure everyone gets home safely.” Megatron stared at him. Prowl wasn’t surprised – that was a distinctly Autobot request. Maybe it had something to do with the still half in recharge Fireflight that the Seeker was cradling.

“And me,” Skywarp added, following his trinemate. Unsurprisingly, Hot Spot and First Aid stepped forward as well.

“Of course,” Optimus nodded, eyeing the Protectobots. “Megatron?”

“If you must,” Megatron grunted. “You will be back before the truce ends. Astrotrain!”

“Lord Megatron?” The hulking dark mech shuffled forward.

Megatron, strangely, hesitated. And then, even more boggling to the mind, he looked at Bumblebee. “Take the Coneheads back to the _Nemesis_. And anyone else who can’t make it back themselves.”

Now it was Prowl who stared, completely astounded. Based on the wave of gasps and sharp intakes making its way across the clearing, he wasn’t the only one to be surprised.

To his knowledge, Megatron had never taken such care of his mechs before. It was always up to the gestalt leaders or trine leaders to get any errant or wounded mechs out of the fray.

Maybe there was such a thing as Christmas miracles. Then again, he wasn’t too sure he should be happy about something that made life easier for the Decepticons.

As the gathering began to disperse, he sought out Jazz. His mate was standing near the edge of the clearing, watching everyone.

“Merry Christmas, Jazz,” Prowl said softly, letting his arms slide around the saboteur from behind. “Did you enjoy your gift?”

Jazz twisted, that blue visor looking up at him. “Ya mean t’ say that this was f’r me, Prowler?”

“Yes. Well, for you and Hound and Sunstreaker and Bluestreak and Wheeljack and the others who helped you make my gifts. And for Prime. Did you enjoy it?”

Jazz’s hands came to rest on top of his own, interlacing their fingers. “Ah did,” he grinned, leaning his head against Prowl’s. “Ah can’t believe this. Have ya seen what ya actually did t’night?”

“What do you mean, love?”

“Look,” Jazz said. “Look at Starscream and his trine. Look at Soundwave, and the Constructicons. Pit, look at Megatron. Do ya see it now?”

Prowl did. He saw it in the tender way that Thundercracker was cradling the young Aerialbot in his arms, in Skywarp’s constant glancing at Silverbolt and the latter’s smiling back. In Hook, one hand on First Aid’s shoulder as they walked, and Mixmaster, talking to Hound and Trailbreaker and grinning as all three supported each other as they walked away.

Soundwave and Ratchet, side by side, walking towards the path from the clearing together, helms together conspiratorially. Starscream and Prime, standing in front of each other with identical goofy grins on their faces, Prime’s hand on the Seeker’s waist.

That would have been the most astounding of all, except that behind them, Megatron was kneeling down in front of Bumblebee, putting them on a more level height. The Decepticon warlord, fierce, strong and fear-inspiring, was grinning at the yellow minibot. And Bumblebee was laughing. Laughing hard enough, it seemed, to warrant the one hand holding on to the Decepticon’s forearm for support.

“Prowler, Ah think ya jus’ ended the war,” Jazz said quietly.

“That would be much more than I hoped for,” Prowl replied in equally dulcet tones.

“What didya hope for?”

“Hope,” Prowl replied simply. “I hoped for hope.”

“Well,” Jazz said, turning to look at the dissipating crowd again. “That, Ah think ya managed.”


	4. A time for hating and fighting to cease

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid this is just an itty bitty epilogue. But there's another finished fic in this series, a four-part Valentine's fic that will begin posting next Wednesday. So stick around for that!

The first hint they got that something had changed was when Skywarp overtook Bumblebee on patrol, and instead of shooting at him merely dipped his wings once and then changed direction. Then, a week or so later, Mirage was discovered while infiltrating the _Nemesis_ – only, instead of being attacked, he was invited back to the Constructicons’ cabins for some high-grade. A few weeks after that, Laserbeak could be seen leaving the Ark rec room quietly before first shift, Trailbreaker escorting him to the front exit with a small smile on his face.

 It was all enough to make Prowl’s tactical computer calculate in new and interesting ways, suddenly seeing a different future than was probable just a few months earlier.

And when the Decepticons finally acted up again, attacking an oil refinery about a month after Christmas, Prowl asked Prime to give the order that none were to fire at the Decepticons unless they fired first.

And, almost miraculously, not a single shot was fired. Instead, Prime had intercepted Megatron and asked him to desist. And Megatron had smirked and ordered a retreat, looking at Bumblebee as he did.

Poor Red Alert landed himself in the med bay again after that, processor glitching. After so many years of seeing Decepticon threats everywhere, them not being a threat for once almost undid him. And for once, Ratchet wasn’t upset about it, merely treated Red Alert with his usual care and much less than his usual gruffness.

Of course, that may well have had something to do with the cube of glowing vintage high-grade sitting on the desk in his office. It had appeared there a few days earlier, with a signed note courtesy of the Decepticon spymaster. ‘Until next time,’ the note said.

A different future indeed.


End file.
